


Playing for the Crowd

by akelios



Series: Playing for the Crowd [1]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternative Universe - Gender Changes, Blow Job, F/M, Fingering, Kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You want me to pretend to date John Marcone? Have you lost your mind?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the bagel guy's fault. If he hadn't argued with me about whether or not the shop made plain freaking bagels I would have been half way to my office by nine, as usual. And not just stepping out into the street, the bag with my plain bagel with cream cheese thumping against my leg.

Look, it's not like I have a prejudice against flavored or fancy bagels. It's just that, as far as I'm concerned, the bagel is there to deliver the cream cheese to me. That's all. Anyway. The point is, the new guy argued with me, like it was beneath him to sell me a plain old bagel and it made me late.

Which is how I stepped out into the middle of an assassination attempt.

I'm a PI. I'm observant, usually. But I was, like I said, running late and hungry, het up and smug over my victory. So I powered out of the shop, the little bell jangling a merry victory tune for me and I didn't notice the two guys come running around the corner until one of them slammed into me.

I made a sound that some, the ignorant, might call a squeak as his elbow caught me in the gut and nearly lost my balance. I grabbed the guy's sleeve on instinct to try and steady myself and he turned on me, his eyes wide and frightened.

Recognition flicked over his face and then he was grabbing me, hauling me forward with a grip that might leave bruises even through the protection of my coat.

"Hey!" I dug my heels in and twisted my arm, grabbing the guys wrist as I did so and twisting his arm up and backwards, like Murphy had shown me. I'm most of six feet tall in flats and all wiry muscle. I don't look strong, but I am. I twisted and a neat little high pitched whine erupted from the guy. "Don't go grabbing at women, jack ass!"

"Ms. Dresden, you gotta run!"

"What?" I let him go, pushing him away from me as I did so. Which is when the other guy came around the corner and opened fire. I saw the gun coming up from his side, slow and still way too fast. I had just enough time to throw out my hand and raise my shield. Bullets spat out at us in controlled groups, multicolored sparks flecking off the shield with each hit.

His gun clicked empty and I dropped the shield, flicking my right hand at him and triggering one of my rings. It knocked him on his ass as he ducked down to try and grab what I assumed was a hold out gun. When I say knocked, I mean shot him back ten feet into the middle of the street. Car horns screamed and the squeal of brakes made me wince. A little more force than I'd meant to use.

The guy lay there, totally still in front of a car's bumper maybe two inches from his face. I turned to the two guys who'd been running.

"What the fuck was all that?" Grabby-guy was just staring, mouth a little open, his eyes flicking rapidly between me and the idiot in the street. The other guy had come trotting back and was looking at street guy with a vicious gleam in his eyes.

"Ma'am. Sorry about that. We had a little disagreement with that gentleman over there."

"You don't say." I smoothed my hands over my hair and realized my bagel was gone. Sirens started up in the distance and rapidly came closer. "Dammit. You gonna collect him or what? I'm leaving." I spotted my little paper bag full of yum. It was under Grabby-guy's boot. Squashed and dirty. And a little bloody. Grabby-guy was bleeding from his thigh. It was bad enough that the side of his slacks was heavy and sticking to his leg, the blood dripping down his shoe.

"Fuck. Where's your car?"

"About four blocks back." Other-guy saw the blood too and frowned. He knelt down, pulled his tie off in a quick set of movements and started to wrap it over and above the wound. It was a piss poor bandage, but I'd left my first aid kit in my other pants. "Ma'am. We'll be fine. _Executive Priority_ 's just a block that way. I'll get him there. Mr. Marcone doesn't want us getting-"

"Screw Marcone. And don't call me ma'am. Do I look like your mother? Get in my car. I'll dump you there." Grabby-guy was a criminal. I mean, he worked for Marcone, so obviously he wasn't on the up and up. Didn't mean I could let him bleed to death because of it.

~

The employee entrance to _Executive Priority_ wasn't as fancily decorated as the public entrance, but it was a close call. Not tacky, just very tastefully telling you how lucky you were to even be allowed to grace the former service elevator with your presence.

Or maybe that was just me feeling out of place. Nah. Couldn't be. Other-guy, who said his name was George, and I had gotten Grabby-guy, Paul, into the elevator and then ridden up three stories to the employee floor. I'd asked George what sort of self-respecting mobster goon was named 'George' and he'd told me his parents hadn't considered this as a career path when they were naming him. Which...okay. I was being a smart ass. I just wasn't used to getting it back. Especially not from Marcone's goons. They tended to either be very polite at me, or ignore me entirely.

“Just through here.” George nodded his head to the right at an open doorway.

“Great.” We hauled Paul, who was still sort of incoherent, through the doorway and into what, I swear to you, looked like a school nurses' station. Only much, much nicer. The 'nurse' looked up from some paperwork, saw Paul between the two of us and jumped into action. Within a minute or so she had Paul down on an exam table, his pants leg cut open along the outside and was examining the wound. She and George were occupied, so I let myself out.

Not out of the building, mind. Just out of the nurses' station.

Marcone's little...tiff or whatever was going on had ruined both my morning and my breakfast. I was just going to correct half the problem. Marcone being Marcone, I knew he had food for his employees here. Hell, he probably had all their meals catered; weighed and balanced by a nutritionist for optimum vitamins and fiber. Or whatever people were supposed to worry about these days.

I wound my way through halls, passing women and men here or there, acting like I belonged. You'd be amazed how many people will hesitate to say something to you if you look like you have the right to be where you are. I wasn't having any luck locating the kitchen or cafeteria and was weighing stopping the next person and asking them, playing the 'new employee' card when the scent of freshly brewed coffee rolled over me.

My stomach did a happy little backflip and I followed my nose to the sweet nectar.

It wasn't in the kitchen. When I opened the door blocking my way to the coffee I found myself in Marcone's empty office. I'd come in through a side door, one you couldn't even see from the inside since it closed flush to the wall and didn't have an inside handle. I could see the larger, impressive door that I had been ushered through the few times I'd been here on the other side of the room. I glanced around, confirming that the office was completely empty before I let the door shut behind me. After all, I could always just break it down if I needed to.

The coffee was steaming in a plain blue mug sitting to one side of the desk blotter. Right beside a bagel. I grinned and crossed the space in two steps, dropping into Marcone's fancy chair with a very satisfying 'plop'. Two birds, one stone, etcetera. I was going to get breakfast and annoy Marcone all at the same time. My day was looking up.

Of course it couldn't have been a plain bagel, no. He had some weird flavored bagel. Jalapeno and cheddar, maybe. It was okay, but eating it with my boots up on Marcone's desk, sipping his coffee made it taste wonderful. I didn't expect that George would forget about me for long and a search of the building would ensue. Eventually they'd think to check the boss' office and I'd get kicked out. So I wasn't really surprised when the front door opened and some random goon walked in, followed closely by Marcone and Hendricks.

I smiled wide at them and let one hand rest on my stomach as I slurped the very last of Marcone's coffee. “Hi there Johnny!” I practically chirped at him, too bright, too happy. Really, the coffee was excellent and the look that passed through Marcone's eyes, frustrated and angry made it all worth it. “We need to have a talk.” The goon smirked, ugly, and turned his head toward Marcone.

“Who's the skirt, Marcone?” 'Skirt'? What, really? Did I fall into a movie somewhere along the line?

“Excuse me?” I rolled back and dropped my feet off the desk, setting the mug down as I rose. Goon took a step back as I walked around the desk. I'm not imposing, but it does surprise an awful lot of people when they realize just how tall I am. He caught himself and took two steps toward me. Compensating I guess.

I saw Hendricks shift out of the corner of my eye, like a continent drifting and then Marcone was at my side, one arm slipping around my waist, turning me to face him.

“Harry. I wasn't expecting you so early.” And then the bastard took a hold of the back of my head with his free hand and kissed me. There was nothing to it. It was cold. Perfunctory. I tensed to pull back so I could knock him flat on his ass and his grip on my waist tightened. Marcone leaned in, putting his lips next to my ear and whispered, “Play along. Please.” It was the please that shocked me. I didn't think he knew how to use the word. I decided not to slam my knee into his groin, or my heel into his foot and break it. I even figured I could hold off on setting his suit on fire. Just for a minute.

“Nice. You wanna talk business or what?” Goon was definitely not a goon. None of Marcone's men spoke to him that way. Not more than once at any rate. His voice was nasal, obnoxious, with an accent I didn't recognize.

“Mr. Morelli. Would you go through into the conference room? I will join you there momentarily.” Morelli-not-a-goon snorted and shook his head.

“I'm disappointed, Marcone. I didn't take you for the type to get distracted by a broad.” But he followed Hendricks through a pair of glass doors into what I assumed must be the conference room. 'Broad'. Yeesh. Someone was stuck in the 40's. As soon as the door closed between us, I stepped on Marcone's foot. Not hard, just set my foot on top of his, so he could feel it there.

“You can either let me go, or I can make you let me go.”

“Really Harry. Your sense of drama is misplaced at the best of times.” Marcone stepped back, sliding his foot out from under mine and glanced down at the scuff marks I'd left on his shiny loafer. “And your timing is certainly questionable.”

“Not my fault. I was having a really good morning until your business splattered all over my sidewalk.” He shook his head and walked around behind his desk. I'd left a nice smattering of crumbs across the top and a couple coffee rings on a notepad. Just in case I left before seeing Marcone in person. “What the hell's going on?”

“Morelli is my opposite number from Boston. There's been some tension between our two groups, but we're smoothing it out.”

“Does this smoothing out have anything to do with the fire fight in broad fucking daylight in the middle of the city?” No one as slick as Marcone would ever actually say 'duh', but the look he gave me clearly did. “Great. Do you mind smoothing it out in dark alleys in the middle of the night or out on the docks like you people are supposed to?”

“I'm dealing with it, Harry. Morelli will be in town for a week or two. In the mean time all hostilities will cease. I won't let it spill out into the streets again.”

“It better not.”

~

Hendricks hunted me down at lunch.

Okay, it wasn't hard to do. I have a routine. I'm either brown bagging it because I have no money, or I'm at Mac's. Sometimes people make me eat other places, but I try not to enjoy it. It feels too much like cheating.

I'd wedged myself into a table in one far corner, paperback folded out in front of me, Coke in one hand, steak sub in the other. In spite of the bad start to my day, it was going well. I had an appointment in two hours, and I was just generally feeling content.

I felt the shift in the attitude of the pub when the door opened and shut. Everyone sort of went on alert. Which could only mean that the new visitor was here for me. No one else started fights in Mac's. I didn't look up, but I set my sub down, slowly chewing while I slipped that hand into my jacket to pull out my blasting rod. It's a slender little tool, a lot more concealable than my staff. And no, it is not a wand. I don't care that it looks just like the ones in those movies. It's a blasting rod.

"Dresden." I waited, finishing up the page I was reading, then reached up to turn the page. I dog eared it and then looked up into Hendricks' face. He wasn't handsome. Not at all, really. He was huge and rugged and looked like he'd been on the wrong end of a few fights. Appealing to the cave-woman parts of my brain, sometimes. But mostly I just wondered where he got suits made to fit his size quadruple x shoulders and still not show the guns.

"Cujo." I nodded to the seat across from me. Mac relaxed over by the bar, his hands coming up into view. The pub was Accorded Neutral Ground, but better safe than sorry. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a job for you." He shifted in the chair. I'd always had a hard time reading Cujo, but he looked uncomfortable. Like he just did not want to be there, asking me this.

"What kind of a job?" Marcone had mostly stopped trying to hire me after the shit fest with the werewolves. We'd settled into some sort of pattern. Not fighting, but not friendly either. Almost comfortable. I poked at him when I got the chance just because I didn't like being comfortable with him.

"Go out with the Boss. To dinners and some...business meetings." I glanced down at the glass in my hand, then back up to Cujo.

"Can you say that again, but wait just a second. I've always wanted to do a spit take." I took a sip of my Coke and made a 'go ahead' gesture with my fingers. Cujo rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. I swallowed and settled for laughing at him. "Why? I mean, what on earth makes you think I would date Marcone?"

"Not really date. It's a job. Pretend. Go undercover, or whatever you like to call it. You screwed us up this morning. Now Morelli thinks the Boss has a girl, and he wants you at all the family stuff. He's old school like that."

"Yeah. I met his old school charm earlier. He should get that looked at." I waved my hand through the air negligently and picked up my sub again. "Get one of the ladies from _EP_ to play girlfriend. Mob guys always have more than one, don't they?"

"The punks, maybe. But high up the command structure, no. You can have a steady girl, a fiancee, or a wife. A mistress on the side, yeah. But you don't take her to the important stuff." I nibbled, and thought.

"Not my problem. Johnny should have thought about that before he kissed me."

"You didn't give him a whole lot of options. No employee would be sitting there, talking like that to the Boss and eating his breakfast. Or we'd have played you off as one of the girls. But you- you just don't make anything easy on anyone."

"Still not my problem." I shrugged one shoulder and turned back to my book. "Marcone's clever. He'll figure it out." Cujo grunted at me, but the chair scraped across Mac's flooring and I listened to him stomp up the stairs.

Date Marcone. Please.

~

Gard cornered me at the end of the day, while I was locking up the office.

I saw her through the glass half of my door and sighed. It was way too late to turn off the lights and pretend that I was already gone.

"Harry." We were almost exactly the same height, which was weird for me. Her blue eyes were warm, amused. I thought Gard might like me. Not that that would stop her from killing me in a thousand horrible ways if she thought she needed to. But it was still sort of nice to know.

"Sigrun. The answer is still no. Not only that, but hell no." I was really, really sure I did not want to date Marcone, for real or otherwise. I'd been thinking about it all day. Yes, maybe it was kind of my fault that this Morelli guy had gotten the wrong impression. Just a little. But I'd had no way of knowing. Marcone had. And he'd kissed me anyway. So. Definitely his fault.

"I'd thought you more honorable than this, Harriet." I winced. There's something about hearing my first name in that tone of voice that makes me feel guilty. Even when I've got nothing to feel guilty for. Dammit.

"My honor's got nothing to do with this. Marcone's the one who picked the lie, not me."

"Your disrespectful actions led directly to the lie. That is your part."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've made disrespecting Marcone a hobby. He should expect it by now. Have contingency plans." I turned off my desk lamp and dropped the book I was reading into my messenger bag. "It's not like Morelli's going to kill him over me or anything."

"He won't believe that you're not Marcone's girlfriend. Morelli will take your absence as a sign that Marcone can't control his own people. He'll see it as a sign of weakness and he'll attack. Maybe not right now, but soon." Hells bells.

"Why'd he send you guys to ask me?"

"He thought you'd reject him on principle." I wanted to say that wasn't so. That if he'd told me what they had told me, I'd have thought about it. But we all knew that wasn't true.

~

I called his office at six the next morning. He was there, of course. Marcone was a workaholic like none I had ever met before.

"Yes?"

"Say please." An annoyed sigh.

"Please, Harry. Please come eat delicious meals with me, go dancing, see a few shows, sit through a few meetings and be pampered."

"Mmm...say pretty please."

"Harry."

"You're going to owe me a favor, Marcone. A *big* one. And I'm not at your beck and call here. I still need to do my job."

"Keep your evenings free for the foreseeable future and we won't have any conflicts of interest."

"I can't promise, but I'll do my best. And I meant it about the favor."

"Very well. Do we have a deal?"

"We sure do, sweetie." I smiled at the buzz tone in my ear. Well, pet names take a little work.

~

I'd never really spent a whole lot of time with the women who worked at _Executive Priority_. Mostly that was because I only ever went there when I was trying to yell at Marcone. So they were just...background noise. Like the sea of goons Marcone had. Though I guess I did pay more attention to the goons, since they have guns. Which isn't nice, or politically correct, I guess. But it's true. People who might shoot me get more attention than those that probably won't.

Turns out they're all very nice.

I got the call Thursday morning, letting me know that I was expected to go to dinner that night, at Spiaggia's. Marcone didn't even pause after that, just rolled right into, 'and come down to _Executive Priority_ at five, so you can change. I've had them pick up a few dresses for you.' Then he hung up. I tried calling back, but the secretary wouldn't put me through. Jerk.

Admittedly, I didn't own a whole lot of dresses. My wardrobe tended to the jeans and blouse side of the force. It's just practical, okay? Running in a skirt is entirely possible. It's just not a very good idea. Jeans offer you a bit of protection if you fall, or get tossed into a dumpster. Or have flaming monkey poo tossed at you. What? It's happened. I swear. And I've got a witness.

I thought about just showing up an hour late, so he'd have to take me in my own clothes. But...well. The whole point here was to play nice, right? Or nicer, at least. And it might be fun to dress up. So I showed up on time.

"You must be Harry." The woman was waiting on a bench outside the entrance to _EP_. She rose, a petite little thing with straight red hair and a friendly smile.

"Must I?" I shifted my bag a little on my shoulder. I'd shoved in my makeup and other sundries and it was heavier than normal.

"I'm Julieanne. Ms. Gard said you'd be coming today." She linked her arm with mine and flicked a security pass through the little scanner. "I'm kind of excited, you know. We picked out some really nice outfits for you. This is going to be so much fun!" She bounced. I kid you not, she bounced on her feet while we waited for the elevator, then kept on bouncing on the ride up. I managed to get my arm back from her and quietly shifted to the other side of the elevator, keeping an eye on her. She was so...cheerful. It was creepy.

It was late afternoon, and _EP_ was mostly empty. A small group of the girls were clustered around the receptionists desk, chatting and looking over their schedules. They glanced up when we came in and Julieanne waved at them.

"This is her!" They all looked me up and down. I gave them a little wave and smiled. Apparently I was news. Yay! "We've got everything set up in one of the private rooms. This way."

It was...look. I don't have a lot of experience with doing 'girly' things. Shopping with friends, going to movies, chatting over the phone about guys. I just don't do those things. I never did. I didn't grow up in what anyone would consider normal environments. I moved around a lot. I was home schooled a lot. Or just not schooled at all. My few experiences with regular school were great. I loved it. But I didn't spend enough time with the 'normal' people to have those regular experiences. I'd never even had a lot of female friends as an adult. Susan had been a friend. A good one. And I'd gotten her killed. I killed the monster she became, and yeah, that made me feel a little better. Killing all the other monsters in the house had made me feel a whole lot better. But she was still dead. And we'd never been the kind of friends who went shopping and cooed over clothes together. More the...let's chase that werewolf down the alley over there friends. Murphy was my friend, sure. But again, not that kind of friend. Monster slaying, yes. Shoe shopping, no.

So I'd never been at the center of the kind of whirlwind that hit me. I got bored with it pretty quick.

Julieanne sat me down in a plush chair while she and two of the other girls, Mandy and Tracey, paraded a long, long line of dresses in front of me. I think I spent a good ten minutes rejecting dresses until I finally called a halt to it.

"Look, all of these have short sleeves or are sleeveless. They're very nice, but I need something with long sleeves. Do you have anything like that?"

"Um...yeah. A few. But you have such nice arms! I can tell. You really should show them off."

"Yeah. No." I took off my coat and pulled the sleeve of my shirt up over my left arm. I had to give them credit. Not a single one gasped or looked away in horror. The burns were bad. Not freak show bad, but not nice, smooth skin either. They were worst at my wrist, where my shield bracelet had half-melted into the skin, but they covered the outside of my arm all the way up to my elbow, with a few licks of scaring on the upper arm. I'd thrown my arm up in front of my face when the napalm flared up too bright on my shield, which is what kept the burns from all being on my hand. I liked to look at it from the bright side. I could hide the scars most of the time.

"Okay. I've got something. Hang on a sec." Tracey vanished into adjoining room. When she came back, she whipped the dress out from behind her back like a surprise present. It was wine colored, a nice burgundy shade. Long skirt. Full length sleeves.

"Let's try it."

~

The movies lie.

Being a mobster's date is boring. Very, very boring. Every movie ever, the mob guy takes his girl out to dinner and someone tries to kill him, or there's a deal going down or something. It's not true.

What happens is, you show up at a restaurant. Chances are good it's owned by your date. Or he's 'protecting' the place or something. Or maybe the owners are just idiots who've fallen for the public line and believe your date is the world's sleaziest philanthropist. Whatever the reason, they show you to the best table and proceed to fall all over themselves to get you things you don't even want.

The bodyguards, because there are always bodyguards, sit at the tables around you. The other mobster and his date show up and his bodyguards sit at other tables around you. And then the men talk, and you get stuck making time with the girlfriend.

Two hours of that.

The food was great, but by the time desert came around, I was done. I'd played nice, and I hadn't kicked anyone under the table. Even when they discussed me like I was an accessory. I did pat Marcone's knee while he did it. With my fist. But it was under the table, so no one saw. Pretty sure that means it didn't count.

I kicked off my heels as soon as we were in the back of the car and stretched out as best as I could. Who knew hours of doing nothing could be exhausting?

"That's a lovely dress."

"Huh?" I turned my head to look at Marcone beside me. He was looking at me and I dropped my feet off the back of the passenger seat in front of me and sat up. Sedans are a lot bigger than most cars, but there's still not enough room for me to stretch out. I ran my hands over the front of my skirt and tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles I'd just made. "You do realize it's just us and Cujo right now, right? You don't have to play boyfriend."

"I-" I glanced over at him. He dropped his eyes from my face to look out his side window. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before. It really is lovely."

I glanced out my window at the passing lights, and then back. "Thanks."

We rode in awkward silence for a few minutes. I hated it. Marcone and I were a lot of things around each other. Awkward hadn't ever been one of them.

~

"Hey, sweetness. Why don't you toddle on over there and get us a drink."

I know, it doesn't sound like much. But I'd had it. Three weeks. Three weeks of this shit. I wanted Morelli gone. Back to Boston. To the bottom of the lake. I didn't care. I just wanted him gone.

Nothing was right with him here.

I'd thought this whole 'girlfriend' thing would be kind of fun. Play around, annoy Marcone. Get an inside look at the life. But Marcone was different. He didn't...respond to my little pokes. There was a lot of awkwardness between us. I tried aping Tina, Morelli's girlfriend, but that just made it worse. I wasn't her. I wasn't quiet and sweet and content with shiny baubles.

Thomas kept asking me what was wrong. He told me I was 'cranky'. I told him it was a wizard's prerogative to be surly and threw him out of the apartment for a few hours.

Three weeks of seeing Marcone almost every day, and not really seeing Marcone. I saw this other guy. He looked like Marcone, sounded like Marcone, but he wasn't. He doted on me, indulged me like a favorite pet. It was creepy and wrong.

So when Morelli patted my ass and told me to fetch? Yeah. I'd had it.

I walked over to the sideboard and grabbed a nice full decanter of whiskey. He was smiling and actually licked his lips as I walked back to him. I think Marcone started to realize something was wrong when he caught sight of the tiny little smirk on my face. I know that's when he rolled back from the conference table and started to say something.

It was a little too late. I reached Morelli, smiled down into his piggy little face and poured the alcohol over his head.

I didn't set him on fire, but that's only because Marcone dragged me out of the room before I could. There was shouting, Morelli going on about 'crazy bitches' and I laughed.

We wound up in a dark little office and Marcone finally let go of me, stepping back quickly and locking the door behind us.

"Harry..."

"Don't fucking 'Harry' me! How can you put up with him? He's an ass. An obnoxious ass! He's slimy and- and- he's just looking for an excuse to fuck you over and you're goddamn well rolling over for him! What the hell?"

I shouldn't have touched Marcone. I was mad, and I knew better. I did it anyway. I rushed across the room and grabbed the front of his shirt, shaking him a little. He reached up, grabbed my wrists and then one of us shifted, tensed or something, I don't know and we were fighting, locked together and smacking into furniture left and right. The lights sparked, flared and died as I slammed him into a bookshelf. He snaked a leg behind my ankle and I went over backwards, dragging him down with me.

He landed on top of me, somehow still holding onto my wrists and everything stopped. I didn't-

He kissed me. Not the passionless little pecks we'd exchanged before. This was a real kiss. Hot and heavy, filled with anger and a million other things that radiated off of him like a heatwave. I sighed and realized I was kissing him back. My hands were free and I pulled him closer, dragging him down to me, biting at his lips, gentle, tiny nips.

Someone in the room was making a breathy moaning sound and I wished they'd stop. It was distracting, and this was what I'd been missing since Morelli came to town. Marcone's fire. His drive. I had it back.

Marcone pulled away. One of us had to, and it wasn't going to be me. He pushed up, bracing himself above me on all fours.

"Harry. I have to. I have to get back in there." His hand moved, like he was going to touch my face, but then he stopped. Pulled back even more and stood. "I know what it looks like. But believe me, I know what I'm doing here."

He left, the door clicking shut almost soundlessly behind him.

Shit.

That wasn't what I'd meant to happen.

~

The wood of the desk was cold beneath my butt, my thighs, and I yelped a little at the sensation. We laughed, giddy and he ran his hands up my legs, shivery and light over the bare skin. His hands were warm, rough. Callused in all the right places.

He cupped my knees, spreading my legs just a little bit wider and sank down between them, a sharks smile on his tanned face. I watched him go, slow and sure of himself. He pushed my skirt further up my legs, leaving it as more of a suggestion than anything else. I threaded my fingers through his hair, light pressure against his scalp.

I tugged, tried to pull him in closer and he resisted. Those rough fingers left my knee and slipped up my inner thigh, brushed against my outer lips and then spread them, holding me open and waiting. I growled at him and shifted against the table, moving just a little closer, wider. He leaned forward and pressed a feather kiss on my clit before he flattened his tongue against it, not enough pressure.

He pulled back, his cheek and lips resting along my thigh and sank two fingers deep inside. I threw my head back. He crooked his fingers, twisting them, teasing. It was never enough like this. Never fast. He took his time, spread me open for him, made me tight and wet. I flushed, hot, mewling. I could see the lights of the city outside the window in front of me, the lights flashing, weaving in and out, shimmering like heat waves.

“Please.” I pulled on his hair again, my palms tingling and slick with sweat. “Pleasepleaseplease...”

Smooth, soft skin of his cheek and then the rough roll of the ball of his thumb against me. I slid my legs up over his shoulders, drawing him in deeper. Just a little more, a little harder.

I looked down to see him coming for me, lips parted, tongue flicking out to lap me up, to hollow me out and he rolled his eyes up to meet mine. Faded green, warm and burning with pleasure...

“Harry!” Pounding on my bedroom door.

I opened my eyes and glared. Fuck. Thomas wasn't supposed to be home for another hour.

“What?” Go away. Go away.

“Um...there anything you want to tell me?”

“No! For fuck's sake. Go away. I'm busy!”

“Yeah. I can tell.” Oh, the joys of having a sex vampire for a roommate. “It's just...there's these flowers out here. A lot of them. Usually, that means you've either made someone really happy, or they've pissed you off.”

“Awesome.” I let my head flop back onto my pillow. “Put them out in the back yard and mulch them!”

Green. Shit.

I'd lost my fucking mind. It was the only explanation. All this playing around with each other, pretending to be people we weren't had broken us somehow. I had to fix this. I looked at my closet, at the dresses hanging there. The jewelry, everything. None of it was me.

We'd worked as Marcone and Harry. We hadn't been friends, but we'd worked. This new set of us, pretending to be normal people, they didn't work. They made stupid decisions and were going to get themselves killed. Somewhere along the way Marcone had forgotten that this was just a role. It was the only explanation for why he couldn't see the way Morelli was scoping everything out. Taking note of the city's weak points.

I had to undo whatever it was I'd done.

~

The first thing to do was get more information. I'd fallen down on the job here. I hadn't looked into Morelli at all, just taken Marcone's 'he's me from Boston' and run with it. That was a huge mistake.

I generally run stuff down myself, either through my contacts in the spirit world, or through plain old fashioned leg work. But I'd never had cause to work out in Boston. I didn't know anything about the town or the power structure out there. Luckily, I knew someone who would. Or who'd know who would know. There's a lot of 'friend of a friend' in this business.

Nick Christian had been my mentor in the investigator business. I'd pretty much followed him home one day, after he'd been around the dance studio looking into a missing persons case. I'd gone in with romantic, Bogart-esque ideas of private eye work and Nick had crushed those pretty quick. He gave me every shit job he could think of. Made me dig through dumpsters, canvas apartment blocks, everything. I ran away from more dogs that first year than I could count. It was hot, tiring, filthy work. And it was always worth it.

My old boss still worked out of the same crappy little office. Same phone, same beaten to hell secretary's desk. There'd never been an actual secretary. He just thought it looked more professional if people thought there was. I'd answered the phone once or twice when I started out, but those had been rare occasions. I hadn't wanted Nick to get comfortable thinking of me as 'office girl' and not 'investigator in training'.

One of the file cabinets stood open and there were papers spread all over the floor. I could see the bottom of one of Nick's shoes under the desk and there was the quiet sound of papers being shuffled and the occasional loud curse. Nick's filing system was worse than mine.

"You're such a fucking slob, Nick."

"Hah!" His head poked up over the edge of the desk and he shook one finger at me. "You forget, I've seen the fire hazard you call a filing cabinet. I know exactly where everything is, long as no one touches it." I'd alphabetized once, during a slow month. I was never, ever going to hear the end of it.

"I have a system. You got a minute?"

"Sure, sure. Gimme one sec here." He ducked back down and the shuffling grew louder, more furious. I pulled one of the heavy chairs along the wall over to the desk, picked up the pile of paper littering the seat and shifted it to the floor. I'd put it back exactly the way I'd found it before I left. Nick found what he was looking for, a receipt with something scribbled on the back, and rose from the floor. He placed the receipt in a folder and took his seat, leaning back a little in the chair. "What can I do for you, kiddo?"

"I need whatever you can find on an outfit guy from Boston. The name's Raymond Morelli." He laughed.

"You don't want to go sticking your nose around that guy. I know Morelli's name. He's boss of the top crew over that way. They don't have the iron control over the city that Marcone's got here, but hell, they're bad enough."

"That I know. I just need more info on how he works. Maybe what he's suspected of, what he's known for. If he has delusions of empire-hood. That sort of thing. Not just his reputation, but more about him. Habits. I need to get a peek inside this guy's head."

"Empire-hood? You know something you wanna share?"

"Not yet. Not for sure. He's been seen in town with Marcone though, and it makes me nervous."

"Yeah. He ain't the only one spotted with Marcone lately. Something you want to tell me?" Nick's grin was gone and he leaned forward over the desk.

"Nooo..." He reached into his desk and pulled out a small stack of glossy photos.

"I was tailing a guy on another case and what do I see but my old apprentice hanging out with people she shouldn't be." The photos were fuzzy, out of focus. Some of them had weird light anomalies writhing through them. Just one of the side effects of being around me. But I was recognizable in some of them. And so was Marcone.

"It's a job, Nick. Nothing to tell. A little extra security. That's why I need this info on Morelli." I flipped the pictures face down and slid them back across the desk to him.

"Working for somebody like Marcone ain't ever just a job. They get you and you don't ever get out. Not in one piece any rate." I bounced my heel on the floor and just stared at him.

"It's nothing Nick. I swear, I am not getting involved with Marcone. Not for long anyway. This is a one time thing and then we're done. Are you going to help me or what?"

"I'll help, I'll help. But I want you to understand how much of a shitty idea this is. I wish you'd talked to me before you took this job. Whatever he's paying you, it ain't worth it."

"Don't I know it."

~

"Bob." I rapped on the skull with my knuckles as I walked around the lab, pushing things back into their places. It'd gotten worse than usual down here.

"Yeah boss?" Candleflame eyes lit up the skulls eye-sockets and the skull turned on his shelf, following my movements.

"Feeling up for a little research?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right? Spirit of intellect here! I live for research."

"You live for porn. Research is just a hobby for you, Bob."

"That's not true at all." Bob huffed, haughty. "My books are all academic interests. Don't go cheapening it."

"Right, of course. Sorry. I don't understand how I mistook..." I picked up the latest book he'd been reading. " _Bound and Determined_ for anything other than a scholarly work."

"You know, you'd appreciate that one. The heroine kidnaps this macho guy and keeps him tied up in-"

"Ah!" I flung an eraser at Bob's skull. I did not need that image. No. My brain was still short circuited, because I could already see Marcone, stretched out on my little bed, arms tight, every muscle standing out as they were pulled back over his head, tied there. Maybe with some of that enchanted rope I had, maybe gagged with one of his own ties....I shook my head. "Less of that, please! Focus! I need to research defensive magic I can lay over top of some of Gard's stuff. Without her noticing."

~

I stole Marcone's watch.

It wasn't all that difficult; a soft hold here, my hand curled around his wrist, a bare whisper of contact and then I'd palmed the thing. He'd started wearing a big old fashioned watch, not one of the digital things that popped in five seconds of exposure to me.

I slid the band up over my own wrist, under the cuff of my shirt and excused myself from the lunch table.

There's one good thing about the reputation women have for spending way too much time in the bathroom: you can disappear for a nice little chunk of time without most guys questioning it. They don't want to know what you've been doing because they're afraid it has something to do with 'feminine products'.

It gave me plenty of time to lock myself into the ladies room, lay out a circle and enchant Marcone's watch. The most time consuming part of the process was etching the sigils into the back of the metal plating. I needed them to be right, and deep, but small enough that they wouldn't be noticed right away. And that was hard to do without all my tools, but I couldn't very well steal the watch and keep it for a day or two while I fiddled with it.

The enchantment was a variation on my own shield bracelet. Only it didn't rely on Marcone's will or magic, but mine. It would use him sort of like a battery to keep itself up and running, but if it was activated - like if someone tried to knife Marcone or shoot him - it would draw on my power to raise a shield. It wasn't as good as my own and it would only be good for a short period of time once the shield went up. But it was better than nothing, and until it was active Sigrun wouldn't notice it.

Slipping it back on his wrist was a little more difficult, but I managed. Marcone caught my hand as I was sliding it off his wrist and held it for a second, giving me a gentle squeeze as he did so. My stomach rolled and I felt a little nauseous.

He hadn't noticed at all.

~

"Harry! Harry!" I fumbled my keys, let them slip down further in my palm so I could reach for my blasting rod. Tina came running down the sidewalk in front of my office building. As she got closer I could see that she'd been crying. Her face was red, swollen, and I thought there was a bruise starting to darken around one eye.

She was alone.

I let go of my rod and dropped my keys into a coat pocket.

"Tina? What happened?" And how did she find my office? I didn't remember telling her anything about my job. She sobbed and heaved herself at me, nearly tripping over her own feet. I caught her and she clung to me, arms wrapping around my neck like a monkey.

"He-" Her breath shuddered in, thick through the tears. "He-" I barely felt the prick of the needle. It was the stinging burn of whatever she injected me with that caught my attention. That and the cold that trickled through my veins, faster and faster as the parking lot spun and now Tina was holding me, lowering me to the asphalt.

~

Idiot.

It was the first thought I had, as I woke up. I could feel my body, distantly. Like we hadn't quite reconnected all the way just yet. I was seated, upright. Tied to a chair, I thought.

And I was a fucking idiot.

"He's late." Tina's voice and the sound of her heels clacking against concrete. I kept still, listening. I didn't hear anyone except for her moving through the room. I chanced a look through the veil of my hair. It looked like the office of a warehouse, maybe. Bare and functional. It was just the two of us. Tina was muttering to herself.

I flexed my fingers, slowly, willing feeling back into them, back into my arms. Tina'd used rope to tie me down. If I could find the knot with my fingers, I could slip it. My dad hadn't gotten around to handcuffs before he died, but I could get out of a rope, given enough time.

Tina gave me more than enough time.

I slipped the rope and found the small knife I'd started carrying on my belt. I hoped no one ever found out about this one. Being kidnapped was one thing. Being kidnapped by mafia Barbie, too dumb to even fucking search me and take my weapons, was embarrassing.

I waited until Tina had her back to me, trying her cellphone again. She'd been calling Morelli for the last five minutes and not getting any answer. I sliced through the ropes around my ankles and rose, sliding up behind her.

"Hi Tina!" I grabbed the back of her head and slammed her forward, smashing her face first into the flimsy wall of the office. She shrieked, dropped her phone and started scrabbling at my wrist, her nails failing to find purchase through my coat, which she had also left on me. Like I said. Embarrassing.

The cold metal of the flat of my knife against the back of her neck made her freeze. I sighed and clucked at her, like I was disappointed.

"Tina, Tina, Tina. I have to tell you, I don't think this is the right life path for you. You kind of suck at being a bad guy."

"Bitch!" I twisted the hair in my hand. It was almost as though I could hear the strands separating, tearing free of her scalp.

"Now that's just uncalled for. I thought we were friends!" I shook her like a rat. "Let's all play nicely and you can tell me where Morelli is, and what he's planning." I twisted my knife so she could feel the edge.

She told me.

~

I broke every traffic law I knew of getting over to the Varsity.

I hadn't had time to stop off at my office to retrieve my staff from the Beetle, but I could do plenty of damage with just the magical tools I had on me.

The doors were closed, the marquee off. A large wooden sign stood in front of the building, declaring them closed for renovations. At least there wouldn't be innocent bystanders. I could see lights on inside.

I parked Tina's car across the entry way, tires leaving a little trail and a screech and jumped out, blasting rod ready. A deep breath and I readied my will. The door creaked open before I could throw my spell and Gard walked out.

"Harry?"

"Sigrun?" We stared at each other for a second. She clearly hadn't been expecting me, and I had been planning on walking into a trap. To save everybody, including Marcone, of course. But Gard looked very...un-trapped.

"Um...so...Morelli?" She nodded. "Is planning on coming here and killing you guys."

"He was, yes. We drew him in, let him think this was a weakly defended building. It's been handled."

"Oh." They lured him in...a few things clicked. Son of a bitch. "You wanna send Marcone out? Just for a second." Her blue eyes narrowed and I knew she was taking in my flushed face, the faint traces of rope burn on my wrists and maybe even a couple spots of blood. Then she smiled and ducked back into the restaurant.

Marcone walked out a few seconds later. There wasn't a single hair out of place. His suit jacket was off, his shirt unbuttoned, baring the hollow of his throat, the beginnings of his chest. My stomach clenched and I stomped on it.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"Great. Fine. Tina's fine too. A little unconscious, but nothing permanent. Morelli was kind of a jackass. Old school jackass, right?"

"Yes."

"And you knew that. You...played him. The whole time."

"Of course." He crossed the foot or so of space between us, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "I told you I knew what I was doing. I showed him a weakness. Let him believe that I was infatuated with you. That I'd gone soft and was neglecting business. He was going to make a move at some point, I simply chose the time."

"So it was all..." I waved my hand in the air. "Playing a role."

He nodded. Relief hit me, followed by something else. Something I couldn't put a name to. But it hurt, a little. There wasn't any sign of...anything. No regret, no flash of pain in his eyes. Certainly not the affection I'd seen over the past weeks. His hands on me were firm, professional. I took hold of his wrists and stepped back, dropping his arms as I did.

I turned. I was just going to get into the car and go home. Or maybe to Mac's. I wasn't sure I wanted my own company at the moment.

"Har-"

I stopped, lifted my right hand and pointed at the first dark sedan in the parking lot. " _Fuego_." Paint peeled under the beam of fire, the tires melted, popped, hot shards of rubber flying through the air around us. Glass warped and ran. I stopped when the car was a melted ruin.

Explosions are only fun when you're not standing next to them.

I didn't look back. I pressed down on whatever it was inside me that made my head echo so oddly, and I left.


	2. Chapter 2

_One Day After the Incident_

"I could go break his legs for you."

I opened my eyes and stared up at Thomas through my sunglasses. The sand was cool under my back, even through my t-shirt and sweats. After the run we'd just had, it felt like heaven.

"Break whose legs? What're you talking about?"

"Uh, your ex? The guy who broke up with you?" My brother dropped down into the sand beside me.

"Broke- Are you high? I'm not dating anyone." I sure as hell wasn't, and hadn't been, dating Marcone. "I've been on a job, I told you."

"Uh-huh. Did it end badly or something?"

"Nope. It ended perfectly. Client's safe, yadda yadda." Client was also a giant fucking tool, but that wasn't important. Thomas was looking at me and I couldn't help but notice that he was trying not to smile.

"Is that why you've got all those new dresses in a cardboard box by the front door?"

"I don't need them anymore. I was going to take 'em down to Goodwill." Or dump them in Marcone's driveway and set them on fire. No. Definitely Goodwill.

"And why you were up all night last night down in the lab?"

"I've gotten behind on some projects because of this job." I sat up and punched Thomas lightly in the shoulder. "This is normal for me, Thomas. Get over it. Nothing happened. It's cute that you want to play big brother, but totally unnecessary."

 _One Week After the Incident_

"No."

"Bob...come on. Just one more try."

"N. O." Bob turned away from me. "We have tried this potion twelve times already tonight. I quit. I'm calling a strike. Unfair work conditions."

"You're a spirit, Bob. You can't go on strike."

"Watch me." And then the lights went out in the skull. I tossed balls of paper at him, and a pencil or two. Nothing. I refused to freaking wheedle my own lab assistant so I went up to bed.

 _One Week and One Day After the Incident_

I didn't glare at Gard when I answered my door. There was no reason for me to glare at her, of course. And then there was the fact that she had a pizza box in one hand and what looked like a two six packs of Mac's ale in the other.

"Dinner?" She offered the beer to me first. Smart woman, Sigrun.

"Depends. Are you here for him?"

"Of course not. Today is my day off." She shifted a hip, drawing my attention to her blue jeans and hiking boots. Not the nice suits she wore on the job.

"Then come on in." I kicked the box of clothes out of the way to let her in. I hadn't gotten around to running it down to the Goodwill just yet.

The pizza was hot and fresh, a supreme, just the way I liked it. We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds Mister's rumbling purr from the back of the couch and Mouse's puppy snores and tiny squeaky barks as he chased something in this sleep.

"He's not going to apologise, you know." I eyed Sigrun and chugged the rest of my beer. Mac would be appalled at the disrespect to his brew, but what Mac didn't know wouldn't hurt me.

"Thought you said you weren't here on orders." I opened a new beer.

"Please! He doesn't see that he did anything wrong, so he's certainly not going to send me to apologise or explain on his behalf. I'm here as a friend, Harry." She sighed and sipped her own drink. "The two of you are a pair of idiots. Well matched idiots, but still.

"He should have told you what was really going on. He thought it was better this way, keeping you out of the 'muck', but he doesn't always see too clearly where you're involved." Sigrun set her beer down and turned on the couch to face me. "You should have come to me when you thought none of us was paying attention to Morelli. Even if you thought Marcone had fallen for the story, you should have trusted myself or Hendricks with your suspicions. What did you think you were going to do by yourself? Wouldn't it have been better to have Marcone's team ready rather than go in half-cocked by yourself?

"Then again, you don't see very clearly where he's involved either."

Now I did glare at her. She remained entirely unimpressed.

Why had I kept it to myself?

"Fuck this. I don't do deep introspection, okay? You think I don't feel like a big enough moron without you pointing out all the levels of stupidity involved? I know I fucked up. I forgot it was just business. I don't think too well when more than my head's involved. See every relationship I've ever had, starting with Elaine."

Sigrun smiled.

"Oh no. No. We are not- I am not having this talk with you, Sigrun. Nope. There is no discussion to be had!"

"Of course not." She sat forward a little and pulled a silver flask out of a pocket in her jacket. "Have you ever had mead?"

Turns out mead is really, really good.

~

"You two are adorable!" Thomas' voice was too loud. It set off a drum solo in my head, so I chucked a pillow in his general direction. The pillow under my head shifted, grunting and through the musical accompaniment it occurred to me that that wasn't right. The previous night didn't come flooding back on a wave of surprise or anything. I just sifted through the sleep fuzziness until I got to the part where we'd started in on the mead before we tore apart my romantic and sex lives. Then we'd moved on to hers. Most of which seemed to involve bloody battle before hand. We'd fallen asleep on the floor after recreating some battle or other with the beer bottles standing in for the major players.

"Vampire. If you use that camera, I will kill you." Sigrun's voice echoed through the ear I had pressed to her chest.

I raised my head, looked at Thomas and muttered ' _hexus_ ' at his phone. There was an electric 'pop' and little wisps of smoke curled out of it.

"Problem solved." And then I pushed myself up off of Sigrun. I stood, pulling my clothes straight-ish and quirked one eyebrow at Thomas.

"Anything you want to say?"

"Nooo..." He glanced down at the dead cell phone in his hand. "Congratulations?"

“Go ahead and kill him.”

 _One Month After the Incident_

"I'm _so_ sorry Harry!" Tracey stopped at a small door. "I'll be ready in like two minutes! Just wait in here and I'll come get you so we can go eat lunch."

"Just don't forget me." I went into the next room and froze. Fucking hells. Marcone was sitting at a conference table, waiting. I stepped back, but the door had shut behind me and it was one of those hidden jobs, like he had in his own office. I sighed and walked over to the far side of the table from him.

"That's low."

"You've been dodging my calls."

"And clearly you missed the message there." I frowned down at him. "The message being, I don't want to talk to you."

"One of my men took a substantial bribe from a rival gang." I did the Spock eyebrow at him. "He was a part of my security detail, and tried to stab me in the car." I went cold. He looked okay, but then he wasn't exactly moving around a whole lot. Would I be able to tell if he was hurt without the stiffness of movement? Marcone pushed his chair back and came around to stand next to me. He moved the way he always had, smooth and sure of himself.

"You can imagine my surprise when his knife shattered on a shield. The shrapnel, by the way, was also deflected. My assailant wasn't so lucky. I don't suppose you know anything about that?" He held out his watch.

"Um. No?"

"I'd thought, when you stole it at the restaurant, that you'd placed a tracking charm on it. Something along those lines. I never-" He shook his head. "Why?"

Deep breath. Say something. I was worried. I thought you were distracted by me. I don't want you to die. I wanted to protect you.

I shrugged and took the watch from him. "It's not much. I can, I can redo them. Reset the charm. If you just give me a second."

He caught my wrist as I started to turn away, yanked me forward, off balance and I caught myself on his chest as he bent to kiss me.

You know that line from The Princess Bride? _'There have been five great kisses...this one left them all behind.'_?

This kiss wasn't even close to that category. It was rushed, harried, furtive. He pulled back almost immediately, let me go. Like he was shocked he'd even done it.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I threw the watch at the wall behind him. "Make up your be-damned mind, Marcone!" Then I kissed him.

I kissed him with six years of pent up emotions. I poured it into him. I wanted him to feel what he did to me. How crazy he made me. How I couldn't ever decide if I wanted to hit him or throw him down on his desk and fuck his brains out. I didn't want to want him. I just did.

He took it, like he was fucking absorbing it. Like he wanted it all, like he needed it.

We fell and I landed on top of him, pressing him down into the carpet. I pulled away for air, my face tingling, hot, lips bruising and he caught me, pulled me down again. He bit at me, my lips, my chin, my throat as I rolled my head back, baring it to him. I sat up a little, ground my hips down into his and I could feel him, trapped and hard. My muscles clenched, trying to pull him into me through all the cloth between us, the seam of my jeans pressed up into me, everything hard but not quite enough.

"Hang on." My voice was loud, accompanied by the echoes of our breath in the silent room. He let me slide down, sit all the way up until he felt my hands at his fly.

"Wait. Wait. I don't have any-" He grabbed at my hands, tangling us up. "We can't."

"Fuck." I rolled my hips a little against his thighs and he hissed, moving his hands to grab my waist, try to hold me still. I was not going to- to- damn well hump his leg- "Stupid fucking asshole." I went back to his fly, ripped it open and slid my hand inside, drawing him up and out. "Back in fucking Hog Hollow behind the damn barn with the fucking sheep watching us..."

A phrase from one of Bob's books came to me, a 'gracious plenty'. It'd been funny at the time, but now I sort of got it. As in, gracious there was plenty of him. I smiled and flashed on him plunging up inside of me, filling every curve, fitting perfectly. How did I wind up with the one guy in the building without a fucking condom?

The skin was so soft, different from anything else on earth. I traced my fingers over him, rolled my hand around him and stroked down, tightening my grip just slightly as I did. I heard him mutter 'shit' and then coherence went out the window. I slid down and took him into my mouth, fluttered my tongue along the bottom of his length. He tasted of sweat and salt, a sweet, odd taste and I hummed around him, trying to puzzle out exactly what it reminded me of. Nothing came to mind. It was just Marcone.

I concentrated on him, on learning the feel, the weight. On what touches made him twitch, made him curse above me, his hands gripping my shoulders, running over my hair, trying to keep from grabbing and pulling. I wanted to tell him it was alright, that a little hair pulling was good, but I didn't want to let go of him.

I dug blunt nails into his thigh, twisted my hand around him and took him as deep as I could, until he was filling my mouth as deeply as I'd imagined him filling me a few moments before, until he was all I could taste, even the air I drew in around him was Marcone flavored. He twitched on my tongue, a living thing separate from himself and then he was coming, a blood hot flood. I swallowed, pulled him that much deeper into myself. He was a part of me now, even if only for a little while.

“Harry...” His hands cupped my face, pulled me up until I was sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around him. It was a shock when he kissed me, his tongue driving inside, touching every millimeter of my mouth. I followed him, wondering. What was it like, to taste himself inside of me? My skin tightened, electric and needy. More more more...

Fingers at the buttons of my jeans and then warm, rough fingers cupped me, slid across slick, wet flesh, spread me wide so they could plunge in. The angle was awkward, one hand pressed tight between our bodies, but neither of us wanted more space. I curved my hips, moved against him, with him, and the hard curve of the heel of his hand hit me just right, broad, warm pressure against my clit, heat radiating out into me even as his fingers curled inside of me, stroked the delicate, sensitive flesh.

I bit his lip, curled my hips back to grind back into his hand and let it wash over me, lava through my veins, lifting me up and out, away from everything else.

When the world put itself back into order, Marcone was still holding me in his lap and I was limp against him, smiling like an idiot. We were sticky, sweaty and I could hear something electrical in the room spitting in its death throws.

“This is a terrible idea.” His chest rumbled pleasantly against mine as he spoke.

“Understatement of the fucking century.”

Neither of us moved for a long time.


End file.
